


Ghost of You

by twigletfitz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Sad Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28273944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twigletfitz/pseuds/twigletfitz
Summary: I'm so sorry about this. It got into my head and I needed to get it out somehow. My take on how Dean reacts after Castiel sacrifices himself in 15x18.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Ghost of You

**Author's Note:**

> This Fic is Dedicated to Martina, I'm sorry for this 😔 Sad Dean and no Happy ending, so don't read if you’re likely to get triggered. This is my second fic I've written and published (I’ve not gone through and self beta’d it yet either) so please don't be harsh. Constructive criticism is welcomed though! 
> 
> It’s Inspired by and named after Ghost of You by 5sos: https://youtu.be/-T-vhGL9fP8

Dean’s breath gets caught in his throat and he’s left gasping for air as he sits up to lean against the wall. His body feels like lead, heavy and near impossible to move. The sight of Castiel vanishing into the Empty is burned into his mind, and his ears are ringing with the Angel’s final words. “I love you. Goodbye Dean.” He knows he’s having a panic attack, and seeing Sam’s caller ID come up on his phone just makes it worse. Dean finds himself muttering the same broken sounding phrase over and over again, “I didn’t say it back..” and the words send him spiralling even deeper into his utter devastation.

_Here I am waking up  
Still can't sleep on your side  
There's your coffee cup   
The lipstick stain fades with time  
If I can dream long enough   
You'd tell me I'd be just fine  
I'll be just fine_

It’s hours before Dean can finally bring himself to move, his limbs feeling weighted as though he’s moving through quicksand as he stands and begins to stumble across the room. It doesn’t feel real, Cas can’t be gone. He makes a stop in the kitchen to get his bottle of whiskey before he finds himself in the Angel’s designated room in the bunker, sitting on Castiel’s neatly made bed and calling desperately for Jack, but after an hour of nothing Dean angrily swipes at the tears streaming down his face as he finally gives up.

_So I drown it out like I always do  
Dancing through our house   
With the ghost of you  
And I chase it down   
With a shot of truth  
Dancing through our house   
With the ghost of you_

He lies down on the crisp sheets of the bed, wrapping himself around Castiel’s pillow. The fact that it doesn’t smell like the Angel only makes him cry harder, he stops for a few seconds when his fingers touch something small and plastic but then he realises what it is. Dean’s fingers close shakily around the mixtape he had made for Cas, who had deemed it important enough to keep under his pillow. But of course, he had. It was the only thing Dean had ever really given him after all. It’s then that he starts to pray quietly to Castiel, the desperate and pleading words broken up between Dean’s gasps and the repeated gulps of Whiskey he takes straight from the bottle as he fights off the return of his panic attack.

_Cleaning up today  
Found that old Zepplin shirt  
You wore when you ran away   
And no one could feel your hurt  
We're too young, too dumb   
To know things like love  
But I know better now   
(Better now)_

As expected he didn’t get any form of response, no “hello Dean,” and certainly not the familiar rustle of wings that came whenever Castiel appeared somewhere. The Hunter rolls over on the bed, and his hand not holding the mixtape falls over the side. His fingers touch something soft, and when he pulls it up to see what it is his heart thuds painfully in his chest. It’s the Zepplin T-shirt he’d accidentally shrunken in the wash, he hadn’t seen that shirt in months not since he’d thrown it across the laundry room in a fit of annoyance. Seeing it now in Castiel’s bedroom has Dean choking back an actual sob, his tears had been unaccompanied before now, but this nearly breaks his silence. He goes to take another swig of Whiskey, growling hoarse and angry when all he gets is one final drop of the amber liquid. He flings the empty bottle half-heartedly across the room at the wall opposite, but the glass still shatters all over the floor on its impact.

_So I drown it out like I always do  
Dancing through our house   
With the ghost of you  
And I chase it down  
With a shot of truth  
Dancing through our house   
With the ghost of you_

Dean brings the worn T-shirt up against his face, breathing the scent from the fabric in deeply before a sharp gasp falls from his lips. The shirt smells like Cas, his shirt smells like the Angel which means Castiel had been wearing it. He knows that Cas doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t need to, so his thoughts turn to why he would have been wearing Dean’s shrunken shirt. Then he has a truly devastating thought pop into his head, maybe Cas had worn it whenever he’d wished Dean had been there beside him. Whenever he’d been wishing Dean was there to hold him and tell him that he loved him too. He does sob this time, unable to bite it back quick enough. 

_Too young, too dumb  
To know things like love  
Too young, too dumb_

The Hunter swipes angrily at his face once again, before he tucks the T-shirt between his head and the pillow and grips the mixtape tighter. It’s all he has left of his Angel now and he finds himself missing that stupid trench coat he wears. Wore. This time he knows in his heart that Cas isn’t coming back, his chest tight and aching as he comes to terms with the awful truth of the black-haired man’s last act on earth.

_So I drown it out like I always do  
Dancing through our house   
With the ghost of you  
And I chase it down   
With a shot of truth  
That my feet don't dance   
Like they did with you_

For the first time in over a quarter of a century, the Hunter cries himself to sleep. He doesn’t sob again, but he can’t stop the gasping breaths escaping as he tries to force back his emotions. That’s how Sam finds him hours later, fast asleep with dried tear tracks on his face, nose buried in the old T-shirt and the mixtape still in his hand. Sam sighs softly, putting a blanket over the older man and placing a bottle of water with some aspirin on the bedside table before he turns off the light and leaves the room. He’ll need it after the entire bottle of Whiskey he’d drunk. Sam closes the door with a soft click, running a hand down his face before he walks back down the hall. Dean will come to him when he’s ready. If he’s ever ready to talk about the Ghost of an Angel that he knows will haunt his older brother for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Again I’m so sorry about this 🥺


End file.
